


Aurë entuluva

by scarletbluebird



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:49:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletbluebird/pseuds/scarletbluebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kili has yet to fully awaken from his fever dream, but ever he fights its thrall. Even now his foggy eyes watch her from beneath dark lashes. </p>
<p>The whole house seems to shake, the very eaves, the very earth itself trembling with fear. Dust floats down from the rafters and the dwarfs cough, so used to the open air of the road that the small room probably stifles them. In the distance she can hear the bellow of the fast approaching beast. It’s a sound that Tauriel recognizes to her bones. A fire-breather. The children whimper from the corner they are huddled in. Even Man can sense this heavy shadow of doom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Utulië'n aurë!

 

 

 

_Utulië'n aurë! Auta i lómë!_ _Aurë_ _entuluva_

 

“Where are you going?

 

The blond dwarf asks her, voice panicked, when she moves swiftly towards the window.

 

Fili, she thinks his name is, watching as he clutches at his brother’s hand. Kili has yet to fully awaken from his fever dream, but ever he fights its thrall. Even now his foggy eyes watch her from beneath dark lashes. His face is sheened with sweat. She forces herself to turn her head.

 

Sleep, she thinks towards him but he won’t listen. The stubbornness of dwarfs is resilient.

 

The whole house seems to shake, the very eaves, the very earth itself trembling with fear. Dust floats down from the rafters and the dwarfs cough, so used to the open air of the road that the small room probably stifles them. In the distance she can hear the bellow of the fast approaching beast. It’s a sound that Tauriel recognizes to her bones. A fire-breather. The children whimper from the corner they are huddled in. Even Man can sense this heavy shadow of doom.

 

“Dragon,” The little girl cries into her sister’s shoulder. The elder girl-child sits, eyes fastened on Tauriel. The boy braces himself over the two as the house shivers, settles still for the moment.

 

“Find our father,” The boy says. “he’s in the magistrate’s cells by the square. Bard. He’ll know what to do.”

 

Tauriel pauses, bow in hand. A glance out the window reveals Esgaroth in chaos, carts piled high with belongings and children crying as they stumble after their parents. Boats are suffocating the small algae infested canals. Men are trying to flee the city. Too late, she suspects.

 

“Tauriel.” Kili’s voice cuts through her observation. He sounds hoarse from the illness that raged through him.

 

Bracing herself against the lip of the window she crouches. Looking back at the small party of dwarfs: Kili, his brother and two others who look at her with wide eyes like she’s some sort of wraith out of a nightmare, she says –

 

“Stay here.” Looking at Kili, who has somehow managed to haul himself up into a  semi sitting position, mouth white with pain. “Go under the table if the shaking gets worse. But stay here.” She makes sure to catch the eye of his brother. “He is not fully healed, not yet out of danger.”

 

It is all she has time for, well aware of the minutes they have before the attack. She is out the window, can hear them yelling after her – hear Kili yell at his brother – but she knows Fili will stand fast. They will not be following behind, not now.

 

She stays on the rooftops, leaping over the busy streets. At the square, she jumps down into the fray, pushing her way through the masses until she sees what looks like an armed jail. The first man she finds tries to stop her entry and so, with a swift hand, she slays him. The second cowers in fear.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” He gasps, dropping his sword. She retrieves it.

 

“Where is Bard.” She asks, pointing it at his quivering jowls. He can’t be more than 40 she thinks; both saddened and disgusted.

 

“Bard?” For a moment there is a spark of defiance in the man’s eyes, but as quickly as it was born, it dies. “He’s in the back cell.” Flinching he turns away as she strides by, shouldering the heavy door open. A few armed men sloth around, but upon seeing her and her hefted sword, they don’t approach – just glower in silence.

 

“Which one of you is the man they call Bard?” Tauriel is not fool enough to take the sniveling man’s word for it.

 

There’s a rousing noise from the men in the room and huffs of general disgust. They turn away from her and mutter to themselves. Tauriel is swiftly losing patience when she sees a man wrap his hands around the bars and call out,

 

“I am Bard. What business do you have with me?” His eyes are wary as they meet hers.

 

Tauriel smiles. “I’m here to get you out.”

 

 

\----

 

 

 

The dragon is no longer an impending threat but a very real one. It roars on the other side of Lake Town, and the flames from the burning houses rise high, turning the skyline an eerie red. Tauriel feels an uneasy pit rising in her stomach. They must hurry.

 

“Here.” Bard says, some scant seconds later. Panting, he holds up the arrow from the bowels of the small, scarred boat where it was tucked away. Tauriel takes it so he can scramble back onto the walkway. The black arrow practically vibrates in her hand, a strange resonance she knows. The metal is cold, almost freezing.

 

When Bard has his breath back, she hands him his weapon.

 

“Does that Dwarvish Wind-lance still work?” She asks over the screams of the town folk. Strange, since the fires began she’s seen no one running by her but she can hear them crying out in the distance, like ghosts in the night.

 

“Yes,” Bard looks towards the tower, which is still standing by some miracle. “What are you thinking?”

 

“I’m thinking we go slay this dragon.” Tauriel says. “I’ll lead him right to you. When I loose my fifth arrow, loose yours.” She goes to climb up a building. Atop the narrow roof ledge she calls down: “And don’t miss!”

 

Bard raises a hand but doesn’t look back from his sprint towards the tower.

 

\----

 

 

She doesn’t stop to think because she knows this plan is foolhardy. More than foolhardy. This is in fact a phenomenally stupid plan. Dwarf worthy, really. Towards the burning houses she runs, the heat of the fire making her face tingle. 

 

She stops, braces her feet shoulder width and draws an arrow. She can see the foul beast tunneling its head through a small house.

 

“Smaug.” She doesn’t bother to raise her voice, dragons have excellent hearing.

 

The great scaled head rises, gleaming in its own firelight. Huge jewels are encrusted on its chest.  Smaug’s eyes lock on her own almost instantly, narrow.

 

“She-elf. “ His voice hurts to hear, it aches. Sibilant and deep as a well. But she will not flinch before it, tightens her grip on the bow. “Now this is interesting.”

 

She fires.

 

The arrow flies true, slamming into Smaug’s wing and disintegrating with a pop. The dragon lets out a rumbling laugh before rambles towards her.

 

“I expected better from an elf,” He says as she slides down the roof of a building, quickly crawling up another. He lumbers after her like a fat cat stalking its prey. Good, she thinks venomously towards him. Come, follow me.

 

Onto another roof, she draws an arrow. She fires it at his eye and leaps. Her feet slip on some broken roof slate but she  quickly regains her balance. The tower shines like a beacon in the distance. She hopes Bard is up there, watching. She doesn’t have time to squint and make sure he is.

 

The dragon shakes his head and snorts. He’s walking faster now, and when she looks back she can see his glowing eyes, can see the hatred in them.

 

“Foul creature,” He hisses at her, belly glowing yellow. She barely has time to jump to the next building before he lets out a stream of flame. “You’re mine!” He rears up, clawing at the roof.

 

She holds her breath and fires another arrow towards his eye. He roars as he is forced to turn his head away. 3, she thinks heart pounding, muscles burning as she sprints towards the tower. It’s closer now, and she can see Bard and the Wind –Lance clearly. 

 

And Smaug too, as his shadow casts itself over her.

 

“Four!” She shouts, loosing it right into the dragon’s snout as it comes down towards her. Razor sharp teeth snap shut, too close, and she dives away as Smaug comes at her again, teeth glinting.

 

Just a bit more, she thinks, running until she reaches the house closest to the tower. The roof is crumbling, she can feel her heels sinking into the rotting wood. Smaug rises, airborne, sneering down at her. She strings her final arrow and points it at him, fires.

 

He lets out a bellow of blue belly flame as she rolls down the roof and falls, hard onto the stones below. Her clothes are burning. She can hear him laughing at her and then suddenly he is screaming, screeching in such a horrible way she’s sure her ears are bleeding. She’s hit with a wave of panic and scoots frantically back towards the tower as the dragon falls towards her in his death knell.

 

It’s close, he almost crushes her, but he’s dead before he hits the ground.

 

For a moment, she lies panting, back pressed to the stone to stave the fire. Even her hair smells burnt.

 

“Are you alright?” Bard’s crouched over her, he must have sprinted down from his perch. Or else she had lost time herself.

 

 

“Yes,” She lets him help her up, let’s herself lean against his side. He’s eyeing her in a daze before he turns to look at the felled fire-drake. A laugh bursts from his throat, raw, shocked.

 

“It’s dead.” He says, faintly. “We did it.” He turns to her and, despite her pain, she can’t help but laugh jubilantly with him.

 

\----

 

They stumble like drunkards back to his home. Crowds of people line the street, but this time it is celebration, not fear, that drives them. Bard is no longer a pariah, but a victor, a savior and she some strange being from the wood that the townsfolk stare at in reverence. They receive many slaps on the back that Tauriel bears with clenched teeth. She may have under estimated her injuries because, by the time they cross the threshold of Bard’s house, she can feel her body shutting down on her.

 

The ruckus inside the house is almost as loud as it was in the street. Bard is bombarded by his children, he falls to his knees and Tauriel braces herself against he wall, watching them hug each other. To her annoyance, it is Kili who limps towards her.

 

“I thought I told you to rest,” She gasps out. Her back is really hurting now.

 

“Yes, and I took that request into brief consideration before I ignored it.” He looks as bad as she feels, skin clammy, eyes dark, but his grip is steady and firm when he reaches for her arm to help her away from the wall.

 

She moves to pull away, “I’m fine-“

 

“Quiet now,” he interrupts her softly and she finds herself listening to him, something inside of her settles.

 

Somehow, he is able to support her listing form until they are closer to the bed of pillows the dwarves seem to have constructed on the ground.

 

Fili leaps to his brother’s aid and takes her other arm. Together, they help her sit down. Kili slumps heavily beside her. Immediately she reaches up to unfasten her armor, biting her lip as she pulls it away from where it’s melted into her skin.

 

“That looks bad,” Fili hisses, squatting next to his brother. Kili just watches her in silence, mouth tight. He takes the melted leather plate from her shaky hands and sets it on the ground, eyes on her back. She doesn’t want to bother with the shirt.

 

“So it does.” Bard has wandered over to their little nest and his mouth is bracketed in a deep frown. “Let me get one of the girls to draw a bath for you, Tauriel.”

 

She nods, too tired to argue.

 

 

\----

 

“It actually doesn’t look too terrible.” Bard’s oldest daughter says as she gently hand cups cold water over Tauriel’s back. The shirt had been wetted and meticulously peeled away. Tauriel knows her back must be blistered. She wonders how badly her hair is burned. It floats around her in the water, and from what she can see it doesn’t seem too singed.

 

“Thank you.” Tauriel says, voice soft. The girl had set up the small copper bath in the cramped attic room. It was bare, but for the bath, and there were holes in the rafters, but Tauriel is grateful for the feeling of water against her skin and the medicinal herbs that the girl had taken – at her request - from her scout bag.

 

“No, thank you,” The girl replies, voice just as soft. She steps back to take a bit of the wood paste Tauriel had helped her mix and goes to rub it on her shoulders.

 

“What’s your name?” Tauriel asks, after some minutes of silence. The girl is humming under her breath, some foreign lullaby Tauriel’s never heard of.

 

“Sigrid, at your service.” The girl replies, wiping her hands on her apron as she finishes with the salve. She has a pleasant face, round and pink cheeked with youth. “My sister’s name is Tilda, my brother’s Bain.” 

 

Tauriel folds her arms across the lip of the tub and rests her cheek on them. The skin of her back no longer hurts, but it feels strangely stretched every time she moves. She heals fast though, it would be nothing but a memory soon.

 

“Well met,” She says tiredly. “I’m Tauriel. I don’t think we were properly introduced before.”

 

“Yes, well being attacked by orcs and then a giant dragon will do that I suppose,” Sigrid grins. It is a surprising turn of countenance from her earlier pallor. “I’ll let you alone for a few minutes now, so the salve can soak in. Tilda is looking for something for you to wear. Those other clothes are naught but cinders and mud now I reckon.”

 

Tauriel watches her duck through the curtains that had been hung by the stairs to assure privacy. Alone at last, she sighs. Her eyes feel like lead weights and all she really wants to do is curl up on those flattened pillows and sleep for an age. But she can hear the revelers in the streets outside, the shouts for Bard to come out and dance and for the red haired one too – herself she supposes. She knows they plan on burning the corpse of Smaug tonight. Ashes to ashes, she thinks.

 

Ever more, the thought of Legolas weighs heavy on her mind. Their last parting, and how he has yet to return from his hunting of the Orcs. A dark fear rises like the shadow of a great wing. He had been heading in the direction of Dol Guldur, the condemned fortress in the Southern most part of Mirkwood. It had been some 100 years since Tauriel remembered visiting Dol Guldur and not feeling like eyes stared at her from beyond her sight. That part of the wood was now crawling with sickness and spiders. And Orcs, she thinks bitterly. Their patrol had been forbidden to venture near the monolith for some 30 years now. What if they had laid a trap for him?

 

Legolas can take care of himself surely, she tries to reassure herself. But she knows if he does not return soon she will not find satisfaction in waiting for him.

 

“Tauriel?” Sigrid’s voice is soft as she ventures back through the curtains. Tauriel wonders how much time she has spent dwelling, when she gets distracted by what Sigrid is holding in her hands.

 

“What is that?” She asks, tilting her chin up.

 

“It’s a dress.” Sigrid holds it up, looking with confusion at Tauriel. “Surely, you have these in Mirkwood…?” It’s pale cream of some flowy fabric, with dark blue ribbon laced to draw closed the sleeves and bodice. Plain, but beautiful nonetheless. Undeniably a treasured object to its owner.

 

“Ah, yes of course..It’s lovely.” Tauriel doesn’t know what to say. The dress obviously had belonged to the girl’s mother.

 

“Tilda picked it out,” Sigrid said, taking great care in folding the dress over a small chair. Then she smirks, hands akimbo. “Kili helped. He thinks the color will look very nice with your hair.”

 

Well…She definitely doesn’t know what to say to _that_ , so she doesn’t speak.

 

Sigrid is kind. She helps Tauriel out of the cramped tub, helps her wipe off the salve, gasps at the swift recovery of her skin, helps her dress, helps brush her hair. It’s strange, the way she wonders at Tauriel’s hair. It’s common enough among elves to have that length of hair, and Tauriel has been growing hers for some 600 years. Sigrid helps her braid some of it back, but insists it looks good flowing down to her waist.

 

\----

 

The main room is still in uproar when they finally make their way back into it. Everyone is gathered around the big table and they seem to be in different stages of eating, or stuffing their face, or throwing walnuts at each other across the table, or tossing back large pints of frothy beer. She pauses at the door as Sigrid races in, yanking her mug out of Bain’s hand and shoving his shoulder. Tauriel can’t help but laugh at that, rather surprised at the change of attitude in the young girl. She shakes her head; humans were so strange.

 

At her laugh, Kili’s head jerks up from where it was bent over his pint.  His eyes widen, he looks at the dress, her hair, her eyes. Something in his countenance makes Tauriel want to look away. How is it that this dwarf holds such power over her? She can feel her heart rabbit fast in her throat. Eventually, after an age, or a second, he raises his pint in her direction and winks, _winks_ at her! Even after that his dark eyes don’t move away until Fili notices his staring and follows the direction of his gaze.

 

“Hail Tauriel- dragon slayer!” The fair-headed dwarf yells cheerily, leaning forward to block Kili’s line of sight. “You look well in that dress! Come drink with us and make merry!”

 

“Is there anything left for me to drink?” She jokes, making her way to the table side. Scoffing, Fili pours her a mug full and pushes it in her direction.

 

 “Come sit with us!” He urges as she takes a gulp of the bitter brew.

 

“Here,” Kili scoots over and motions for her to take a seat next to him on the bench. She grips the handle of her mug and settles on the bench. Sitting, they’re about equal heights. It feels strange to be able to turn her head and catch his eye directly on level with her own. 

 

“To your health my lady,” He says quietly, raising his mug towards her.

 

“To yours.” She says back, taking a sip of her drink. It’s a dark bitter ale, foreign compared to the lighter brews of Mirkwood, but she finds she likes it. Something in her face must give away her enjoyment because Kili comments,

 

“Ah, like the brew then?” He seems almost proud as he takes a gulp of his own drink. “It’s a hearty Dwarf ale. Bard was given a barrel of it by some villagers.”

 

“It’s very good,” Tauriel agrees readily, drinking and looking around. “How’s your leg feeling?”

 

“Ah,” Kili grimaces, setting the mug down. “It’s alright.”

 

She looks at him, brows arching. “I’d believe that more readily if not for that look on your face.”

 

He laughs, surprised. “I’m well enough,” He assures her, giving her a look out of the corner of his eye. “You know my brother is right, that dress does look wonderful on you.”

 

“Stop trying to change the subject,” She says tartly back at him, making him laugh again. Easy to laughter these dwarves, she thinks. So easy to cheer. It was fascinating to watch. Kili looks much better from earlier; there is a hearty flush on his cheeks and she watches as he licks his lips, catching some of the froth from the ale. He is smirking, she realizes, because he knows she watches him. Yet, he does nothing but watch her in return, eyes soft above the rim of his cup.

  
What? She wants to ask. The trouble is, she suspects she knows what. Even so, she can't make herself turn away.

 


	2. ere the sun rises

 

The next day brings a bright dawn. Tauriel watches the sun peak over the horizon and cast the mountain into a harsh silhouette. Behind her Bard’s house is silent: the dancing had gone on into the wee hours of the morning, until all but her had fallen into a drunken stupor.

 

She remembers twirling around the fire with Bard, and later, Kili. He had grinned, pushing Bard’s legs to get him to move away from her saying cheerfully “Aye, aye enough you, let me have a spin with the lady.”

 

Bard had laughed and moved out of the circle of dancers. Then Kili had winked up at her confessing he had never before danced with an elf.

 

“Nor I a dwarf.” She said.  Together they laughed, before beginning to circle around each other to the sound of the festive music.

 

She had wanted to ask him how he was fairing on his leg, but stopped herself, for the look on his face held no pain. Rather a deep happiness seemed to have suffused his being and standing there next to the fire, the light in his eyes shined like a star. She figured the ale must have helped tame the ache in his wound.

 

Afterwards, they had all collapsed together in a bunch of laughter: clinking mugs and cheering for no reason.  Or every reason.  The four dwarfs broke out into boisterous songs that often didn’t make sense but succeeded in making everyone laugh.

 

Tauriel had looked at the drawn faces of the townsfolk alit with a newborn hope. It was as if a new age had come upon them in the night. With the death of Smaug, all their fears had trickled away like frost in the springtime.

 

Fili and Kili had started a drinking contest and Tauriel watched the two of them knock back pint after pint. Kili eventually dragged her into the competition by asking her teasingly if she was afraid of dwarf ale.

 

“Why would I be afraid?” She had asked him, smiling.

 

“Tis' powerful stuff, being dwarvish and all. I have tasted what your elves like to call ‘ale.’” Kili laughed and laughed, head tilted back at his own comment while Fili guffawed beside of him. “Come sit with us if you are not afraid!” He waved her over, elbow knocking an empty mug off the table as he did so.

 

What could Tauriel do but agree? 

 

Of course she had bested the lot of them. The look of awe on Kili’s face when she plowed through pint after pint was something she would not soon forget. Victory had settled like a warm ember in her belly when Kili cast his dark eyes on her.

 

Eventually, after Fili had fallen off his stool and Kili was barely holding his eyes open. He had declared her the winner, with a jolly grin. Both brothers had passed out not five minutes after that, curled up next to each other on the floor.

 

Now, as the sun creeps higher into the sky, Tauriel can no longer hold back her worry for the absence of Legolas. She has tarried too long. If he is not injured he will surely feel anger towards her. If he is injured, or worse, she will not be able to find forgiveness for herself.

 

She sighs and goes inside. Bard has since wakened and is shuffling as if in pain to open the kitchen window. Tauriel is thankful; it smells rather disgusting in the house.

 

“You look too well rested.” He squints at her suspicioiusly, when he notices her approach.

 

She smiles at him in lieu of a comment before getting right to the point.

 

“I was wondering if you had a horse I might borrow?”  She asks, as he pours himself a mug of water from the pitcher by the sink.

 

He looks thrown by the question for a moment before shrugging and lifting the mug. “I haven’t a horse, but I know some folk who would gladly loan one to you.”

 

“I would be grateful to them.” She shakes her head when he offers her the pitcher. “I must be after my companion,” She says. “I do not suppose you have some proper women’s riding garb lying around?”

 

Bard laughs before wincing at the volume of his own voice. “No,” He says softly, rubbing at his forehead. “But there are many people who would be honored to lend you aid.”

 

She tries not to look too eager to leave, but something must give her away for Bard quickly finishes his water and leads her out of the house to a house a few doors down. It looks like it is falling apart, like the majority of houses in Esgaroth, but the woman who answers looks cheerful enough.

 

“Bard!” She exclaims, grinning. When she catches sight of Tauriel her eyes grow wide. “My lady elf!” She cries. “Welcome!”

 

“Thank you,” Tauriel smiles. She feels as though she should say something more, but cannot find the words so she watches as Bard explains her situation.

 

“But of course,” The woman whose name is Isolde, hastens to invite them in. They both thank her but refuse any form of food or drink and wait patiently for her to run upstairs and retrieve the clothing.

 

“Thank you kindly,” Tauriel says once Isolde comes down the stairs with an armful of clothing. “I shall return these as quickly as possible.”

 

“Don’t you worry any,” Isolde says smiling. “Tis my pleasure to give them to you.”

 

\---

 

Outside, after they speak for a short time of their battle with Smaug, Isolde closes her door and Tauriel turns to Bard.

 

“It is amazing, your capacity to change.” She is not sure if her comment makes any sense to him but her mind is full. Not two days ago, the people of Laketown would have shunned her as a stranger. Now, they welcome her with open arms. Man adapted in a manner befitting their lifespan; much quicker than an elf.

 

Bard parts with her at the steps of his house, telling her he will go retrieve for her a fast horse and she clumps up the rickety steps.

 

Inside, most of their party yet sleeps, but she can see the children beginning to stir on their pillows. Kili, she finds, is sitting on a kitchen stool, chin in his hands. He turns to glance at her through slitted eyes when she closes the front door.

 

“Good morning.” She says brightly, moving to his side. She sets the clothes on the table and pours him a mug of water. Their hands brush when he gently takes the cup from her.

 

“You’re changing out of the dress?” He asks, eyeing the clothes on the table. His voice is low, from sleep and the repercussions of his drinking. He sounds somehow, disappointed.

 

“I must.” Tauriel sighs. For some reason she suspects this conversation will not be easy.

 

Kili watches her, silently. Like he knows there is more to say.

 

“Prince Legolas is too long gone,” She explains. “I fear something happened in his pursuit. I must go after him.”

 

After a moment, Kili nods. “And you’re leaving now.” It is not a question, the way he says it, hands absently turning the mug. He looks down into the water like it holds a vision.

 

“I must.” She says again. It is all she can think of to say.

 

Kili does not speak as she takes the mound of clothing and goes to change. He looks a world away, staring into the mug. She leaves him to his thoughts.

 

 ---

 

Upstairs, Tauriel puts on Isolde’s clothing. They are of similar size; Tauriel being just a bit taller and thinner. The worn leather belt holds the trousers up well enough, although the whole outfit makes her feel rather undignified.

 

She investigates the remains of her armor and finds her thick leather vest wearable if somewhat warped. The finely carved leaves in the leather are melted, and blackened from the supple brown they used to be. Her vambraces are similarly charred, but she buckles them on nonetheless, rotating her arm to get them placed right. Carefully, she folds the discarded dress over the arm of the chair that held her armor.

 

Fully dressed, she feels like she is neither elf nor man but rather a strange mixture of the two. Is this what the descendants of Beren and Luthien feel like always? It is a comforting to think of the stories of her people at a time like this. Her hair she tends simply, one thick braid to hold it away from her face. It is nothing like how she would normally dress for patrol, but this is unlike any situation before.

 

 ---

 

Kili looks up from his water as she comes back downstairs and smiles like he can’t help himself when he takes in her attire.

 

“I know.” She says, to stay any comment he may make on her appearance.

 

He raises his eyebrows at her as if to say _do you now_ , but keeps his opinons to himself until she is back at the table.

 

“When do you leave?” His voice has since lost its sleepy aspect.

 

“Bard is retrieving a horse for me as we speak.” She goes ahead and pours herself a mug of water. The pitcher is just about empty. “I will make my way as soon as he returns.”

 

“Ah.” Kili looks down to his water again and then back up at her. “Will you come back?” His mouth does something funny then, a sort of pinching that makes him look angry although he does not sound it. “To Laketown, I mean.”

 

She does not know what will happen out there in the shadowed world, or where the tracking of Legolas will lead her, although she has her suspicions. Yet, something in Tauriel tells her she will return.

 

“Yes.” She says and watches as Kili’s shoulders slump with something like relief. “I have to return the horse after all.” She finds herself yearning to ask him if he will be here when she returns and yet, why would he? A few days more and his leg will be well enough to travel on, surely then he will make his way to Erebor and his kin.

 

“I suppose I will be in Erebor by then,” He speaks to himself but it is as if he knows her thoughts.

 

“Yes, I suppose you will.” She says softly. There is a trouble growing in the back of her mind. A shadow, a doubt. Some small sliver of fear that snakes its way like poison through her veins. The dragon had flown in a rage to set Laketown afire. Surely it had met with the rest of the fellowship before making its way out of the mountain.

 

It is clear that this thought has crossed Kili’s mind, for his face is pale and his eyes are dark with worry when he looks across the table at her. The clench of his fingers around his mug are white. She can almost feel his mind asking her to stay, to stand beside him at the base of the mountain while he learns the fate of his fellow travelers. Whether they yet live or have perished in the bowels of Erebor with the rest of their kind.

 

What would they find when they traveled there? Life, or a forsaken tomb?

 

“Take heart. It will be alright.” She finds her mouth forming these words even as her mind races. The pull towards Legolas ever present, the strange urge to follow Kili wherever he may go moving to overshadow it.

 

She tells herself: What is the worst thing that Kili would face in that mountain? Death? Life? The shade of his Uncle? He has his brother to provide him comfort, to protect him from despair. Legolas has nothing but his bow to protect him. Even so, her heart hurts. It is a worrisome thing.

 

“Will it?” Kili looks at her a moment longer before heaving a sigh and shaking his head. “I suppose it must be.” His smile, when it comes, is a small, unsure thing.

 

She wants, but what can she say? It dawns on her then that she may never lay eyes on him again. By his mien, it is clear Kili reached this conclusion a while ago. He is oddly introspective for a dwarf. Or was he that different from the rest of his kind? Tauriel suspects that she was told many a misleading thing about dwarves.

 

The silence between them stretches, unseen. They stare at each other. She can feel the space between them pull taunt, the need to speak reach its zenith inside of her-

 

“Kili-” she begins when he reaches across the table to cover her hand. The move arrests her voice in her throat.

 

 

His palm is warm; she can feel the calluses against her skin as he pins her hand to the table. He moves quickly: in the span of half a breath, he is leaning over the table and pressing his mouth to hers. He kisses her like he is hungry, like he has been waiting to do it, like the want has built up inside of him to the breaking point. She kisses him back. His other hand comes up to touch the curve of her ear, push into her hair, pull her closer. Tauriel has had kisses before, but nothing like this.

 

The pounding of boots coming up the outside stairs causes Kili to jerk back, he pulls both his hands away like she is made of fire. His dark eyes are wide as he stares at her, like he cannot believe what he did. His mouth is wet.

 

Bard pushes open the front door. He looks well recovered from last night’s festivities and he smiles broadly when he sees her and Kili.

 

“Kili you have risen early,” He glances at the other dwarves who still lie sleeping. “Earlier than your kin that is.”

 

“Aye,” Kili opens and closes his hands into fists but the smile he turns to Bard is sincere. “I was always the best drinker of the lot.”

 

“Have you retrieved the horse?” Tauriel moves to stand, keeping her eyes fixed on Bard.

 

“I have,” Bard smiles at her. “I see Isolde’s clothing fits well enough. Here, I wanted to give you a pack for the road.”

 

“Oh, that is not necessary.” Tauriel moves to stay him but Bard is already reaching into the cupboards and puling out a loaf of bread that he wraps in cheesecloth. These people have less than nothing, but she knows turning down a gift would be seen as a slight. Kili is silent behind them but she can feel the burn of his eyes against her back.

 

“Thank you.” She says when Bard hands her the pack.

 

He nods to her. “Which direction will you head?”

 

“South.” Tauriel replies, slinging the pack over her shoulders. “Too long have we allowed this darkness to fester and spread. There is something evil in Dol Guldur that does not sleep. The orcs were in retreat –I know that is where they went.”

 

“Dol Guldur.” Both she and Bard turn to look at Kili when he speaks. His face is pale and he shoves his mug away. “Gandalf – that is, the wizard who was traveling with us before we came to Mirkwood - he said something about going to that place. He has yet to return.”

 

“Mithrandir?” Tauriel feels a knot of worry heavy like lead, grow in the pit of her stomach. She has met Gandalf, long ago, in Rivendell, but the memory of their meeting still lived fresh in her mind. To hear that he had gone to that dark fortress, a being so powerful, and had failed to return…

 

“Then I will seek him as well.” She says softly, half to herself.

 

Kili sets his chin, “I do not think it wise to go there.”

 

She looks at him. She can tell how hard it is for him to keep his gaze steady upon her but he does, ever steady, and his brows are lowered in his severity. Folly indeed, she thinks to herself.

 

“I do not have a choice.” She says aloud, voice firm but placid. If this is to be their last parting, she would not have it end in anger.

 

Bard stands beside them, a silent shadow. Tauriel can sense his confusion.

 

“Wha’s going on?” Fili’s voice is sleepy as he rubs at his face and climbs up on the stool next to Kili. He nudges his brother’s shoulder with his own and frowns when Kili continues to glower in Tauriel’s direction.

 

“Er.” Fili side-eyes her and Bard. His face quickly transforms from gaiety to concern. “What is going on?” He asks again, slowly.

 

“I am leaving to track down Prince Legolas. He was headed in the direction of the dark fortress Dol Guldur,” When she says this, Kili shakes his head sharply, as if to cut her off. Tauriel speaks on, ignoring him. “I bid you a fast recovery to last night’s festivities Master Dwarf, but I am afraid I really must be on my way.” 

 

She goes to the front of the house, collecting her weapons from where they are leaned against the wall by the door. Three small knives: one for each boot and one to slide into her vambrace, a larger knife she clips onto her belt, her two short swords she crosses over her back. And of course her bow and quiver. She frowns at the number of arrows, finding them few. She will have to be frugal in their usage. 

 

Bard passes her to go through the door, saying he will ready the horse. She nods at him and steps into her boots, lacing them up. They, like everything else she owns, are a little charred, but the stiff leather they are made of seems to be holding up well. 

She steps outside and inhales the brisk air. It will snow today.  She takes a few steps down the stairs, reluctantly.

 

“Tauriel.”

 

She turns as if on the head of a pin.

Standing three steps down, they are just eye-level with each other. Kili takes advantage of it by walking to the edge of the stairs. There is perhaps a foot of air between them, if that. He looks tired: she takes note of his pallor that has yet to fade and the way he is standing to take pressure off his bad leg. He must be in a good deal of pain. He should not have danced so much the night before.  

 

“I am sorry Kili,” She says softly looking into his eyes. It was funny; last night they seemed so bright to her, today they were like dark pools of water, ever changing, unreadable. “Would that I come with you, but I must do this.”

 

“I know.”  he says, much calmer than when last he spoke. “I know.” His hand twitches but he does not move. She can hear the soft tones of Bard speaking to the horse below them.

 

“I must go,” She says, tilting her head at him. “Stay off that leg for at least another day if you can. You are not fit to travel to the mountain just yet and we would not want all my hard work done for nothing.” 

 

He smiles at that. A strange crooked grin, foreign to her. “No we would not,” he agrees. Then, with sudden earnest: “Tauriel I bid you, be careful.”

 

“I will be.” She says softly. “And you.”

 

“I will be.” He agrees back, just as soft.

 

She makes herself turn away and go down the steps. At the bottom she hears him call her name again and looks up. He is much taller than her now where he stands, bracing himself against the rail. 

 

 “I will see you again.”  He says, voice sure. It is not a question. The look on his face quells any answer from her but a breath of air. Perhaps a vision had been gifted to him as he stared into his water.

 

All she can do is nod up at him. Then she goes to take the horse from Bard. She knows Kili watches her take the narrow path, but she cannot look back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, trying to write 'tolkien esq' is certainly a challenge. Tried my best! alright so, I am taking canon and changing it. For those of you who read the Hobbit, sorry...I'm gonna keep the same basic plot line but....maybe not so many people will die? For those of you who have just seen the movies, well just sit back and enjoy. Next chapter we have more badass Tauriel. Comments welcome!


	3. emyn-nu-fuin

 

It begins to snow just as she breaks ground outside of Esgaroth’s great walls. She urges Philip, her borrowed horse, to swiftness taking the long narrow bridge at speed. The bridge ends abruptly at a muddy path.

 

She follows the warg tracks that go through the mud. There are horse tracks too – which she assumes are from Legolas. Hopefully she will be able to make some distance before the tracks are covered in snow. Then Legolas will be much harder to follow.

 

Over the sound of Philip’s hooves, Tauriel can hear the rush of the Celduin. Icy water flows swiftly, churning and slamming against the rocks to her left. The trees growing along the bank are sickly; their roots twisted into distorted patterns, reaching out into the river or back across the ruined path.

 

It is evident this road is not often traveled, for the overgrowth is such that there is barely a clear way to be made. In some ways, it looks as if there has been an effort to _block_ the road: large boulders have been sunk into the clay and tree limbs were sometimes stacked against them as if to form some sort of makeshift fence and bar the traveler passage. 

 

Ahead, she can see Emyn-nu-Fuin looming like some strange beast. Heavy mist surrounds the craggy mountaintops, covering the sun and casting what road exists into deep shadow.

 

She pushes on. Now it is high noon and the snowfall has stopped.

 

\----

 

 

 

When they near the foothills of the mountains she whispers in Philip’s ear, advising him to move off the path. They must give Emyn-nu-Fuin a wide birth, she says.

 

The horse listens and moves away, running as close to the river as he can. She knows he feels the danger here.

 

Spiders are not the only creatures festering in the depths of Mirkwood.

 

Goblins have moved to make their homes in the rock ledges of the tall mountains that cut through the heart of the forest. And great swarms of enormous bats dwell in the deep caves there. In recent years, the bats have grown bold; flying in daylight and in numbers so numerous, their wings block out the sun.

 

As they race by, Tauriel squints up at the weathered stone. In the fog, she can make out the flickering lights of small fires – goblin camps. She can see their emaciated forms now, dark and grotesque, crawling along the face of the mountainside.

 

But some hear the sound of hooves and still, freezing with the single-minded intensity of a predator. They blink down at her, eyes strangely reflective. Creatures of the deep. Some draw a bead on her with their makeshift bows, but Tauriel knows they are out of range. Unless by some misfortune she and Philip run into ground encampments, they will remain safe. Even so, they are more likely to run into orcs on the ground than goblins. She is not sure which she would prefer.

 

Eventually, they move beyond the mountains. Tauriel looks over her shoulder at them. The heavy mist makes the massif look like slumbering giants. For a moment she feels despair settle into her heart.  This is her homeland. This. Then she turns back to the way ahead.

 

She does not allow Philip to stop even when they reach the remains of Men-i-Naugrim.

 

“I know you are tired,” She says to him, softly. “But we cannot tarry here.”

 

The Dwarven road, a splendor of ages past, has since been reduced to rubble. The immense slabs of white rock have sunk into the marshland that crept in from the river. Remains of goblin camps are scattered about and the air reeks of decay. Tauriel can see the skeletons of a tent pole as Philip picks his way carefully across the swamp. Whatever was here, it looks as if they left in a hurry. 

 

No goblins. No one. They have been oddly fortunate thus far.

 

Though Tauriel strains her eyes, she cannot find any evidence of a recent battle, which means Legolas had continued on his way down this forsaken path.

 

“And so must we.” She says to Philip, gently stroking his neck. She will give him an apple from her pack when they stop to rest for the night. He more than deserves it, poor creature.

 

She knows now that she cannot tell him to go home when they reach the East Bight, as had been her original plan. To tell him thus would be to abandon him to his doom. For if an orc did not encounter him on the way back to Esgaroth, the goblins nested in Emyn-nu-Fuin would surely flay him and make a meal of his remains. No, Philip would remain with her. Somehow.

 

After an hour more of riding she calls Philip to a halt. There is a rocky outcropping that looks well enough to hide under for the night.

 

Tauriel beckons the tired horse over to it and proceeds to give him a good rub down. Philip nickers at her and she rubs his soft nose, whispering her thanks. When she presents the apple to him, she knows he has forgiven her for any trouble she may have caused him earlier.

 

“Be careful when you go to get water,” Tauriel tells him as he makes his way to drink at the river. The current here is calm, a lazy movement compared to its earlier ferocity. “If you fall in, I do not think I am strong enough to haul you out.” He gives her a look over his shoulder and she laughs.

 

“Alright then.” She says to herself and lays out the thick horse blanket to sit on. She drinks from the skin Bard had packed for her and eats a small portion of the bread.

 

Chewing, she leans back on her elbows and gazes out across the river. Beyond it, the great plains stretch out as far as the naked eye can see before running into the sky.

 

She knows somewhere out there flows the Carnen. That river she has only laid eyes on once and it was over 100 years ago now. Maybe after all this is over, she will again make her way there, perhaps all the way down to the Sea of Rhun where few of her kind ever travel.

 

The sun is just beginning to set over the rim of the world and she watches as the clouds go red and purple. Behind them she can see the stars beginning to wake up.

 

"El sila erin lu e-govaned vin." She grins up at them, elation filling her spirit. She takes a deep breath, feeling like she is breathing right for the first time in recent memory. In the gloom of Mirkwood, she would sometimes go weeks without climbing a tree to visit with them. Now, she watches as more and more stars flicker to life.

 

  _Kili,_ His face fills her thoughts abruptly.  _You would find great joy in this._ In the event that he can hear her, she thinks to him, fiercly:  _Kili, I would wish you here beside me now._ And for good measure adds, _And you had better be staying off that leg._ She can imagine his laughter at that.

Philip wanders back over to her and lies down with a huff. His question pulls her attention away from the night sky.

  
"Yes, we will stop here for the night." She answers, turning to run a hand over his side. Philip clearly needs the rest. 

 

Together they sit hidden under the rock outcropping, invisible to any who would ride past. In the stillness, there is an undercurrent of electricity in the air. The gathering storm of change. What change, what storm, Tauriel does not know. 

 

\----

 

 

No matter how much she wants to continue tracking Legolas, she knows it would be foolish to travel so openly at night.

 

Southern Mirkwood is not in the dominion of the elves, but rather under the rule of the loathsome Necromancer. So it has been for all of Tauriel’s memory and hundreds of years before that. Ever since that foul creature had built its fortress on Amon Lanc. Dol Guldur, was its name.

 

Many wood elves speak of Dol Guldur with an air of disdain, but none dare travel south of the Mirkwood Mountains. At least not alone and not without good reason. The only power that combats the shadow of Dol Guldur comes from the West, from across the great river Anduin.

 

It came from the kingdom of Lothlorien wherein the Lady Galadriel ruled. It was her magic that stopped the spread of the Necromancer’s power. 

 

Tauriel has never been to Lothlorien, for to journey there meant traveling a dangerous road, but she would someday like to go and walk the halls of Caras Galadhon.

 

Legolas had traveled there, long ago when he was but a child. He spoke to her of its beauty, about the loveliness of its undying trees that shone with golden leaves through the autumn and winter. Only when the bright green leaves of spring grow upon the silver boughs, he said, do the golden leaves fall to blanket the forest floor.

 

Tauriel spends the night thus lost in memories and dreams, and soon the sky goes grey and the stars begin to fade away. She whispers to them, guren niniatha n’i lu n’i a-govenitham, _my heart will weep,_ but she understands. Her heart weeps for many things these days.

 

Philip is less than impressed when she goes to wake him. He has slept long for a horse, but she knows he is not used to this sort of labor. She rouses him with the temptation of her last apple and he seems in a much better mood after she gives him another rub down.

 

She takes a bit more of bread and water, folds up the blanket and gently mounts Philip.

 

They make their way at a gallop.

 

\----

 

The sun is midway overhead, barely visible through the thick winter clouds, when she sees them. At first she is not sure she has seen anything, the whole world seems strangely hazy here, except-

 

Yes, there. Nothing but specks in the distance, moving ever nearer, ride two figures. She calls Philip to a halt; voice sharp, then leans forward against him and strains her eyes.

 

A glint in the sun off golden hair, “Legolas.” she breathes, throat tight. Sitting back she tells Philip it is safe to run again and he does.

 

The three of them meet at the top of a hill, some long minutes later.

 

Legolas, she is relieved to find, seems well. His scout clothing is dirty and torn but, save for a small cut on his face, he looks unharmed. His companion however-

 

“Mithrandir!” Tauriel gasps, for it takes her a moment to recognize his face so changed it is from when last they met. Gandalf looks old, far older than should be. He wears the face of a worn man with deep sunken eyes and scraggly grey hair. He does not hold his staff and seems diminished where he sits bent over on his horse.

 

“Tauriel, it has been a long time.” His smile is small and strained. He does remember her then. That is a pleasing discovery. “And what a place to reunite, here in the shadows of the world.”

 

“Yes well,” She feels an flush of embarrassment flood her face. Legolas has yet to say a word, merely gives her a look of indifference. The wind coming in off the plains hits them bearing cold teeth, harsh, ever beating against them and their horses. “I came as soon as I could.” In her tone lies an apology. It is not enough, but it is all she can do under the circumstances.

 

“You are well met.” Mithrandir says. His horse begins to move forward, back the way Tauriel came, and they all three turn together to move at a slow pace.

 

“Are you well?” Tauriel asks him, hesitantly. Legolas has fallen back to the rear. “Perhaps we should rest for a moment.”

 

“I am well enough,” Mithrandir assures her, voice steady. He hesitates and then casts her a worried glance. “Did you see much movement in the mountains on your way here?”

 

The way he words the question alerts her. “I saw some goblin encampments in Emyn-nu-Fuin but nothing extreme. Although,” She pauses. “I did notice that there seemed to be the remnants of many camps at the mouth of Men-i-Naugrim. They were abandoned.” She trails off when Gandalf sends her a sharp look.

 

“What?” She asks, voice tight.

 

“They were not abandoned when I passed them by in my chase.” Legolas says as he rides up beside them after checking to make sure they are not being followed.

 

“What?” She jerks her head towards him, finds him squinting ahead of him towards the road in question. A sinking feeling sweeps through Tauriel’s gut. So many camps abandoned so quickly... “An army, on the move.” She whispers to herself.

 

“Yes.” Mithrandir speaks from her right. He too has cast his gaze north. The look in his eyes does not set her mind at ease.

 

“For what purpose would such an army amass?” The answer comes to Tauriel even as she voices the question.

 

Legolas turns his eyes on her, and he looks almost sorry.

 

“We must ride to Erebor.” Mithrandir urges. “We cannot delay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longest note ever:
> 
> we are obviously suspending our disbelief on how far a horse can travel in one day. I mean, when you watch the movies you gotta just pretend it’s possible to traverse a 200+ mile long forest in 1-3(max) days when there’s no clear road. Even with water current..Argh. So I’m estimating Tauriel travels around 70-80 miles a day, which is crazy for a horse, but let’s just…pretend. This bugs me, but the other option was to have a lot of filler chapters where Tauriel is camping and thinking and you would probably get sick of all the middle earth history I jammed into the story. As it is, I managed to jam quite a bit in there. 
> 
> Emyn-nu-Fuin / Mountains of Mirkwood / dark mountains
> 
> Men-i-Naugrim / Dwarf road / old dwarf road / old forest road (in the movie they make this way further north than it actually is, so I'm correcting its location)
> 
> Also, Tauriel has elf eyes so her vision is preternaturally awesome. This should be obvious but in case it's not I am mentioning it here.
> 
> Tauriel says “a star shines in the hour of our meeting” to the stars and also “my heart will weep until I see your face again”. Not fluent in Sindarin so if that’s glaringly wrong – sorry.
> 
> Note: That segment where Legolas talks about Lothlorien is canon, I parsed a paragraph from the book. Lothlorien is apparently the most beautiful of all the elven realms of middle earth and Galadriel kept it safe using her elven ring of power Nenya (I didn’t mention Nenya b/c it was a secret ring so as to keep it from Sauron’s grasp. I’m not sure that Tauriel would have knowledge of it at this point – probably only the ruling elves know about it)
> 
> stuffs about to get crazy next chapter! Thanks for all the comments guys, I love them :)

**Author's Note:**

> Utulië'n aurë! Auta i lómë! Aurë entuluva! "The night is passing! The day has come! Day will come again!"
> 
> "Aurë entuluva! Day shall come again!" Seventy times he uttered that cry; but they took him at last alive, by the command of Morgot, for the ORcs grappled him with their hands, which clung ot him still though he hewed off their arms; and ever their numbers were renewed, until at last he fell buried beneath them. - The Silmarillion; of the Fifth Battle
> 
> I have such a hard on for Hurin. What a badass. <3


End file.
